


A Full Meal

by Aris_Silverfin



Series: The Feeding Captain Crieff Trilogy [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Feeding Kink, Gen, M/M, belly stuffing, feederism, hunger kink, really good food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas finds himself alone and with excess chicken on hand. Luckily he knows a very hungry Martin. A story in which Douglas is a bit of a feeder, and Martin gets to eat quite a lot for once. Douglas approves and finds a full Martin very lovely indeed. Belly kink, food kink, feeding kink, hunger kink kind of thing. If this is not your thing, just back away slowly. If it is, I hope you like it! Definitely some Martin/Douglas in the works. Part one of a trilogy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Full Meal

Douglas swiftly found upon finalizing the terms of his divorce, that his house was simply too damn big. Every night when he would amble in after a long flight, the house would be empty, quiet, and dark in a way Douglas never thought would bother him as it did. He would often turn on the television as he washed up in the kitchen or read his book Just to feel less alone. But as the weeks wore on, Douglas found himself cooking for himself far less, relying on sandwiches and other meals for one. The Bachelor Diet. Goodie.

After the third straight week of the same turkey on the same rye, Douglas had had enough. He had also had a rather brilliant idea for a solution. A way to change the stale air and sandwiches into something more. An unpaid airline captain surviving on pasta, toast, and baked potatoes. A surely very hungry Martin Crieff.

So one day after a short flight during which Arthur had failed to provide proper catering yet again, and Martin's stomach had rumbled and groaned at the absence of proper sustenance during the entire trip back, Douglas leapt at his chance.

"Sir, I couldn't help noticing that either we have a very small and grumpy tiger cub on board, or one of us is quite hungry," he drawled, glancing over at Martin who flushed brilliantly pink.

"Yes, I know, Douglas. I can't exactly help it," muttered Martin, the pink spreading to his ears which really was rather adorable.

"But of course not," said Douglas smoothly, "I was merely attempting to offer a solution. I, myself, could also do with a good meal and I have this rather excessive amount of frozen chicken in my freezer. Too much for myself to eat, naturally, but it needs to be used and eaten before the week is out. Might I offer you a home cooked meal tonight?"

Martin blinked as he pieced together Douglas's offer from his flowery language. "You're inviting me to dinner?" he asked, turning to look at Douglas with a rather puzzled expression.

"Well, yes. I suppose that is the more simple turn of phrase," said Douglas with a sly sort of smile.

Martin blinked again as if trying to find some sort of way that he was being tricked or conned in this arrangement. Douglas chuckled warmly. "Honestly, Martin, I do sometimes do things from a simple desire to treat my friend. No bets or underhanded money deals guaranteed. Just a good meal cooked rather expertly by yours truly," said Douglas, lounging back in his chair impressively.

Martin cracked a small smile and responded, "Alright then. Were you thinking right after we land then?"

"Yes, that would suite me I think."

Once at the Richardson residence, Douglas got Martin settled at the breakfast bar with a cup of tea before setting to work on his dinner preparations. It was quite the show, the old Sky God thought, as he prepared their meal. Three courses. Yes, that would do. And some lovely rolls. Martin's eyes seemed to grow only wider as Douglas cooked. The older man smirked to himself as Martin's tongue began to poke out between those full lips of his more often as smells began to permeate the entire house.

Finally, the food was cooked and the table was set. Douglas, of course, had no wine in the house anymore, but sought to make up for it with some sparkling grape juice poured over his sleeve as if it were in actuality a fine wine. Martin didn't even comment. He seemed permanently enraptured by the spread before him. And this was only the salad. Douglas chuckled mildly and sat down across from Martin. "Well then, bon appetit, mon capitain," he said, raising his glass to Martin, "Help yourself."

Martin looked up almost nervously, but then reached for the salad tongs and lifted a small portion of leafy greens, draped in a rich vinaigrette onto his plate, bits of carrot and slices of almond dotting the vegetation.

Douglas served himself and then deposited more onto Martin's plate. "No need to be shy," he said warmly as Martin protested, "There's plenty to go around."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Thank you, Douglas," said Martin, smiling politely at his first officer before looking down at his plate. His mouth was watering. Douglas was already daintily picking up salad with his fork. Martin dipped his into the greens, brought them to his lips, and his tongue exploded. Tangy dressing, tender greens, sweet almonds, oh it was wonderful! Martin let out a low hum of pleasure and then sent his fork back for more and more until he was chasing the last lettuce leaf around his plate.

"Good?" asked Douglas, still smiling as he looked over at the young hungry captain.

"Mmhmm, oh I haven't had a salad in ages! And a good one like this in twice as long," said Martin, smiling as well. His eyes flicked to the salad tongs and Douglas laughed.

"Go on, Martin. I am quite content to let you finish the rest of it."

So Martin did.

The next course was roasted chicken seasoned with lemon pepper and thyme, the skin crackled and crisp from careful basting in the oven. The sides were fluffy sweet rolls, thick creamy mashed potatoes and a bit of mixed veg along with a rich brown sauce. Douglas graciously served the both of them a full plate and they tucked in. They talked and laughed, about work and aeroplanes, about clients and other things as their plates steadily cleared. Martin looked to be enjoying himself. But then they both seemed to laugh and talk more freely as if the drinks were actually alcoholic, but perhaps then that was the effect of a good meal in and of itself.

They each helped themselves to seconds, Martin's plate just as generously decked as the first even as Douglas's had dwindled slightly. The captain could certainly eat when given the opportunity, mused Douglas, watching as Martin ate happily, a genuine smile on his features as his belly filled with warm food. He cleared his second plateful quite as dutifully. When Martin reached for thirds, Douglas couldn't help but beam as a warm sort of thing curled up in his own stomach and purred.

"Good to see you appreciate my cooking," said Douglas, eyes following Martin's hands as they heaped more mashed potatoes onto his plate and drenched them in gravy.

Martin laughed. "Why shouldn't I? I never knew you were such a good cook, Douglas," he praised as he sank his fork back into the mound of potatoes and sent the newest mouthful between those pretty cupid's bow lips.

"I am many things," said Douglas, slyly. He looked back at his own plate to keep from staring as Martin ate. It was becoming increasingly hard not to. He found himself wondering whether Martin was full yet. And this damn table was in the way so he couldn't sneak a glance discretely. His answer offered itself as Martin shifted on his chair with a soft grunt and discretely adjusted his trousers before going back to his plate. The younger man's bites were slower now, more languid, his eyes drowsy with satiation though he kept up the conversation.

At last Martin scraped the last of the food from his plate and leaned back with a huff. And damn that man, he actually stroked what was definitely a belly rounding out beneath his shirt as he let his head fall back. Douglas found himself oddly transfixed at the sight of that pale throat and the long fingered hand resting on filled stomach.

"Oh God, I'm full," grunted Martin, repressing a small belch as he looked lazily up at Douglas again, "I think that's the best I've eaten in years! It really was excellent, Douglas, thank you."

Douglas smiled warmly back, "Pleasure's all mine. I should invite you over more often."

"Oof, if you do, I'll be needing a new uniform soon," chuckled Martin jokingly. Douglas couldn't help but swallow. His mouth seemed strangely dry all of a sudden. He managed to laugh as well, however.

"Oh, but I do hope Sir saved a bit of room for dessert at least. I rather pride myself on my banoffee pie," said Douglas, getting to his feet with a wink. Martin's eyes widened and he looked down at his stomach.

"W-well, um... B-banoffee pie?" he asked his tone worried but intrigued all the same. Aha. A clear point of fondness then.

"Back in a mo," said Douglas cheerfully, going to fetch it from the kitchen.

Once he was gone, Martin took a deep breath and allowed himself to groan softly. He snuck his hands down to loosen the belt that was cutting into his belly a few holes and rubbed at the bulging flesh thoughtfully. God... he couldn't remember the last time he had been this full. It felt heavenly... He pressed his palms lightly into the roundness on his middle and burped lightly, his eyes falling dozily closed.

Douglas returned with the pie, beautifully bedecked in whipped cream and chocolate shavings.

"Here we are, mon capitain," announced Douglas proudly as he set it down, "Think you can manage a bit of that?"

Martin's tongue had crept out to lick his lips, his eyes not leaving the dessert. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. Um, I think I could have a little bit still," he said, a little hesitantly as he straightened back up with a small sigh. Douglas served Martin a piece that was decidedly more than a little bit. Then cut a piece for himself as well and settled back down to eat. And watch.

Martin looked down at his pie. He really was feeling terribly full, but now that it was cut, he could see all the deliciously rich ingredients that had been laid together by Douglas. Rich snow white whipped cream, dotted with dark chocolate shavings, a crumbly crust that looked like it would break at the slightest touch, soft pale bananas gone gooey and sticky in their sweet surroundings. He had to take a bite. So he did. And then another. And then again and again. Suddenly the piece seemed far too small. Much like Martin's trousers.

Douglas watched Martin eat, hardly tasting his own pie, though it was delicious. His grandmother's own well guarded recipe had proven once again to be a winner. The pie on Martin's plate dwindled and the man's lips looked positively flushed with all the work they were being put through. But his mouth kept opening, accepting more and more and sending it down to what must have been by now, a very full little freckled stomach.

Martin licked the last of the cream from his fork and belched lightly. His tongue snuck out, tasting every last trace the pie had left. Then suddenly there was more pie on his plate. Martin blinked at it. His taste buds celebrated at the sight, but his stomach groaned. Oh it actually had. It was now audibly protesting its fullness alongside the tight and aching sensations it was sending to Martin's brain.

"Douglas, I can't. Really, thank you but I'm so, mmph. I'm already really full," protested Martin, muffling a burp into his hand again.

"Oh I think you could, Martin," said Douglas encouragingly, "You deserve to treat yourself. I made this especially for you since you mentioned once how much you liked a good banoffee." He smiled reassuringly at Martin. The other man swallowed and looked back down at the pie. Well, it wasn't really a big piece and it had been absolutely incredible. Surely he could manage a little more. Martin sighed and shifted on his seat, trying to find a way that his overfull belly would be more comfortable. His trousers were biting him rather insistently now. His fingers closed around his fork and sent it back into the fray to fetch back more heavenly creamy pie for his mouth. He couldn't help the light grunt that escaped him as he swallowed however. Nor the indulgent moan that came with the next bite.

Douglas's entire attention was focused completely on his captain. More so than it often was during their flights to be honest. He couldn't look away. Not when Martin was making such distracting noises as he crammed more of Douglas's food into a belly whose capacity was assuredly already reached. Martin's plate was cleared once again and the man slouched in his seat, both hands perched on his protruding middle, eyes closing.

"Oh G-urp-God," he breathed, giving a few more hiccups afterwards as he caressed the bulge that was now his belly.

"Feeling alright?" asked Douglas, politely as he could while tamping down every desire to stride over and see just how full Martin was.

"Mm ugh, oh yeah. Just really really full," groaned Martin.

Douglas smiled kindly and stood, walking around the table to offer Martin his hand. "Well let's see if we can't get you somewhere you can stretch out a bit more. You are welcome to make use of my sofa." His eyes roved down and Douglas felt his mouth go very dry again at the sight of Martin's belly rounded out and so full that it was almost certainly drooping over the top of his trousers. Round, tight. Full. Soft? Yes.

"Oof," huffed Martin, managing to haul himself out of the seat and onto his feet again. He groaned then shuffled over to the sofa to flop down with another moan as his stomach jostled... and jiggled. The younger man puffed a few times, but then relaxed, his hands crossing over his middle. "Well, I don't think I'll be moving again anytime soon," he joked, muffling another belch and groan.

Douglas smiled and strolled casually over. Martin looked at him in mild confusion as the other man sat down on the edge of the couch. Then Douglas reached out tentatively and rested his hand on Martin's overfilled stomach. Martin was about to voice his confusion, and honestly embarrassment, when he instead fell silent with a sigh as Douglas began to rub a large warm palm over it.

"D-Douglas?"

"Sir protests my assistance?"

"N-no. I-I mean. It feels... nice. Thank you." Martin muffled another couple of belches that threatened to escape. Somehow it didn't feel odd. It did just feel nice. Soothing. And Martin's heavy belly was making him quite sleepy.

Martin's breathing slowed and gentle snores started to intermix with them. Douglas stood and through a blanket over his captain, then switched off the light before wandering to his own bedroom. Really, Martin deserved to indulge far more frequently. The man was clearly starved of nearly every pleasantry, sleep, food, comfort. Douglas could surely help him out. They certainly would be having dinner against soon. There was a recipe for lasagna that Douglas was just dying to try out. Martin could serve as his taste tester. Excellent.


End file.
